The Bungee Cord  6-21-13

Hello,

     “It’s an easy hike,” so said the director of the continuing ed event that I am attending in the Rockies.  So, last Thursday I joined 16 others at the bottom of a mountain called “Twin Sisters”, ready to saunter my way from our beginning point of 9000 feet to the peak at 11,500.

     I was lied to.  It was not easy.  No further than the first five minutes, and I was feeling my lungs call for more oxygen.  But with the words, “It is an easy hike,” ringing in my ears, I figured that I had simply gotten off to a bad start.  Maybe I started off too fast.  Or maybe it was steepest at the beginning of the trail.  Unfortunately, as I pressed on, even at a slower pace, the incline did not diminish nor did my exhaustion.  So, for the next 2 ½ hours I plodded my way up the mountain side…along a rock strewn path that turned my ankles to the right and left, through pine trees infiltrated by swarms of mosquitoes who feasted on my oxygen deprived blood, and sipping small tastes of water out of my water bottle in hopes of fending off the effects of the altitude.

     Of the 17 of us who began the trek, 10 of us made it the 3-mile path to the top. Before you slap me too hard on my back with congratulations, you should know that the ones who did not reach the top were a couple of elementary aged kids and their mother, a pair of 65+ men, and a elderly couple.  I have to admit that the view from the top was breath taking, and rightfully so, because the air was extremely thin.  However, we were not allowed to spend much time capturing the view, because a wall of dark clouds was moving in and it would not have been in our best interest to be caught above the tree line with lightning blasting all around us.

     I did all I could to not gripe or whine as I started to retrace my footsteps down the mountain.  As promised the hike down was not as draining, but more than once I came close to spraining my ankle as I came down unpreparedly hard on my feet.  More than once, I found myself asking myself, “Why did I decide to tackle this mountain?”  Five hours after beginning our ascent we returned to the place where we started, and I was beat, oblivious to what would lead anyone to undertake what I just undertook.  What could possibly be fun or attractive of five straight hours of sheer exhaustion, five hours that provided a 5-minute view of the peaks and valleys around us?

     Of course, I had a choice to tackle that mountain, foolish as my choice may have been.  But for many, might I say all, there is no choice given when standing at the trail head of a high mountain path.  Maybe you are standing there today. 

     I will not lie to you.  It may not be an easy hike.  You may gasp for breath from the first step, and your exhaustion may last far longer than 5 hours.  But here’s the good news.  Unlike me and my mountain climbing troop who could only rely on our own strength and endurance, when you and I face the mountain paths of our lives we do so with the promise of God that he will see us through, Psalm 121.  The heat of the sun will not melt us, because the shade of God’s presence will cover us.  The chill of the dark will not strike us, because God’s ever present love with blanket us.  He will not slumber or sleep, but his attention will always be focused upon us.  Whether we are on our way up, or on our way down, God will watch over us…guiding us, protecting us, and even placing us upon his shoulders when we stumble and fall.

     That is God’s promise to you and to me when we look to the hills and mountains that we encounter.  God does not lie to you.  It may not be easy at all, but every step of the way God will be there with you and no mountain will claim you as its own, because God has staked his claim on you, a claim that God will not release….no matter what…no matter what!

     “I look to the mountains.  From where will my help come?

     My help comes from the LORD, the maker of heaven and earth.”

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Bungee Cord 6-17-13

Hello,

Now that summer is here, I like to travel over the ridge to work with my windows and sunroof open.  It may seem to some who I encounter on the morning road that I am a bit foolish to drive open windowed while the air is still chilled from the night, but I like the refreshing nip that the cool air slaps on my face.

The other wonderful thing about driving with windows and sun roof open is that I can gather in all the smells that waft around me: the smell of crisp pine, the sweet aroma of the honeysuckle, the smell of money flowing from the valley (that’s the smell of cow manure to farmers), and the smell of fresh cut grass that takes me back to my days of mowing lawns in high school.

Every once in a while, though, my open windows and sun roof let smells in to my cockpit that I would rather travel without: the pungent odor of a skunk, the fog of an old diesel truck chugging its way over the ridge, and the residual odor of decay from the raccoon who unsuccessfully tried to cross the road.

A couple of weeks ago the open windows and sunroof drew in a smell that I hadn’t smelled before.  It was a pleasant smell.  Sweet but not sappy.  Earthy but not acrid.  Subtle but not hidden.  Unlike most of the ridge smells that dissipate from my nostrils as I pass them, this smell did not.  It stayed with me, and as a matter of fact got stronger the further I drove.

About two-thirds the way to work as I tilted around one of the bends in the road, I discovered what was making this nose delectable smell and where it was coming from.  It was coming from an old dump truck which I had caught up to, an old dump truck loaded to its fill with a load of fresh mulch.  As I finished my drive to work, the dump truck turned off my road as I entered Greensburg, and as it turned away, so also it took its aroma with it.

You may not find the smell of fresh mulch to be as enchanting as I do, but as I road behind that dump truck, I found myself thinking about why I come to church every Sunday in a way that I had not thought before, and this is it: to fill my dump truck with fresh mulch and carry that aroma into the world.  Of course the mulch that I receive at worship is not ground up trees, but it is the forgiveness that came from the one who was hung on a Calvary tree.

The wind and weather has a way of damping the scent of mulch, and it also has a way of eroding the sweet smelling words of Jesus’ forgiveness.  So I come to church every Sunday, to dump the load of mulch from the week before, mulch whose aroma has been weakened, and to reload my dump truck with new mulch….mulch that reeks (in the best of ways) with Jesus forgiveness of me, and the forgiveness with which he means to permeate the world.  And permeate it he does as I drive around, in my dump truck (figuratively, of course, because as you know I drive a Mini Cooper which is far more fun to drive over the ridge), leaving in my wake the delightful aroma of a fresh load of the finest mulch that ever came from a tree….the forgiveness of Jesus.

There’s plenty to fill your dump truck with, too!

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Bungee Cord 6-9-13

Hello,

     Last week as I was taking my dog, Duncan, for his daily walk in the fields that lie around our house we ran into some deer. Actually, we ran into deer twice. Fortunately, Duncan was well attached to his leash, so he wasn’t able to chase down these intruders. 

     The first encounter happened as we came out from a forested area and we surprised two does and by it wobbly legs the third was apparently a newborn fawn.  The does, when they spotted us, took off leaping across the knee-high grass as if they were running a hurdles race.  The fawn, which could not have had enough life behind it to be taught, buckled its unsteady legs and dropped flat to the ground, hidden now by the tall grass.

     Duncan and my intended path would have taken us between the fawn and its mother and accompanying doe-friend, but having remembered the words of my mountain wise friend, Ralph, Duncan and I redirected our route in a different direction.  What Ralph had told me was that a mother doe was as dangerous as a mother bear if it felt its fawn in danger.  So, knowing that that fawn’s mother was undoubtedly just over the hill carefully surveying the safety of its child ready to come charging and trampling any threat, Duncan and I made sure that our revised path was a clear message to that doe, that she had no feed to worry.

     The new path that we took sent us around another hill, through another wooded area, and back into a tall-grassed field.  As we walked along the tall grass, we encountered our second group of deer.  At first we only saw one doe striding slowly through grass.  She didn’t see us, but she did see another doe coming out of a distant tree line.  Behind that doe the grass was moving, and every so often we could see the ears of the very small fawn that was following her.  The first deer sped up her gait and approached the second doe, and just when they were about nose to nose, the second deer rose up on her back legs and assumed the pose of a boxer with her front hoofs.  Soon the approaching deer did the same and a short-lived boxing match began that the mother doe apparently won as the encroaching deer put down her dukes and sprinted away.  Duncan and I watched from afar, but as we neared where the boxing ring was located, we did so wary of being challenged by the boxing mother doe to a fight of our own.  Fortunately, neither Duncan nor I found ourselves in that mother doe’s ring.

     It occurred to me after I got back home, that these two deer encounters might have helped me see in better detail how God keeps his promise to watch over you and me.  Sometimes it might be that when trouble draws near to me and I have instinctively fallen to my knees and I look around for God, and he doesn’t seem to be around….maybe God has responded like that first doe that Duncan and I ran into.  Maybe God has taken off, luring the trouble away from the tall grass that is hiding me.  Even though he may not be in sight, woe to any evil that might come upon me as God stands poised to come leaping and bounding ready to trample the enemy.

     Other times when trouble encroaches, God like that fawn-guarding doe, holds God’s ground, puts up God’s dukes, and says, “You’ve got to get through me if you think you’re going to get to my fawn!”  And woe to any evil that would want to try a round in the ring with God almighty!

     There is a hymn that goes, “Savior like a shepherd lead me much I need your gentle care…”.  After my walk with Duncan, I find myself singing instead, “Savior like a mother doe lead me….”

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Bungee Cord 5-27-13

Hello,

     There are two nests under my deck.  One is a robin’s nest.  The other is a wasp’s nest.  Herein lies one of the bigger differences between Jesus and me (besides divinity, that is).

     As spring came upon us, I noticed the construction of a bird’s nest under my deck.  I was afraid that it was a barn sparrow that was hoping to homestead in the joists of my deck, so three times I interrupted the construction by pulling the nest down before it was competed.  Soft hearted as I am, I knew that I wouldn’t have the chutzpah to tear it down once eggs were laid in it, so I tried to keep ahead of my determined squatters.

     Obviously, the birds won out, and despite my watchful guard the nest was completed and filled.  Given that it is a family of robins, I wasn’t quite as upset in my failure than if it had been barn swallows.  Barn swallows tend to be messy and they have a habit of dive-bombing anyone or anything that nears their nest.  Robins, I have discovered, are far more docile.  As a matter of fact the other day I walked right under the nest and the only thing that happened was the birds went silent.  So, I have resolved to let these nesters stay under my deck.

     The wasps, however, are a different story.  Wasps are not just pesky.  They see me as their enemy.  They seem to have forgotten that this is my house, and when I come near they approach me as Granny Clampet cocking her shotgun and ready to fire on trespassers like me.  So last night when dusk had fallen and the wasps had all nestled into their nest, I slinked up to their nest with a spray can of “wasp killer” in my hand and I blasted their nest.  The spray covered their nest like Styrofoam, and underneath the foam I could see the wasps unsuccessfully trying to escape their demise.

     This is where the divide between Jesus and me that I spoke of comes in.  Robins, I allow to nest on my house, wasps I do not.  However, Jesus welcomes robins….and Jesus welcomes wasps.  How do I know this of Jesus?  Well….he welcomes me.  Sometimes I am a robin…a little messy, but not on the attack.  And sometimes I am far more like a wasp, stinging Jesus over and over again by what I say and do.  Whatever the case, Jesus opens the door of his house every week and says to me, come on in and nest here for a while.  Squatters, no matter the degree of their peskiness are welcome to make their nests in  the joists of Jesus’ house.  Including me.  Including you.

     But more than just allowing us, robins and wasps, to nest in his house, Jesus takes an interest in us nesters.  Jesus also nests in our nests and makes our nests his home taking the sting out of our stingers and the mess out of our messiness.

     Looking for a place to make your nest?  Looking for a place where you are welcome?  Looking for a place where you will be transformed from pests to beloved?  Looking for a place where you will not be sprayed with the killing foam that comes squirting at you everyday from the aerosol cans of the world?  Wasp or robin you will find that the doors of the Lord’s house, the church, are open to you.  Come and see…..you’ll find a nesting place in the house of the Lord!

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace,  (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

Bungee Cord 5-20-13

Hello,

     On my way home from the church at which I work I pass many other churches, and near to the highway on the lawn of a particular church for the last several months has been this invitation on their sign, “Prayer works.  Come pray with us.”

     “Prayer works.  Come pray with us.”  Every time that I have passed this sign, I find myself asking, “What do they mean when they say, ‘Prayer works.’”

     I know that some people who, when they say, “Prayer works,” they understand that to mean that if you pray, God will do for you what you ask, which they understand John 14:14 to say.  Pray for financial relief when you are having money problems, and God will solve your money concerns.  Pray for an illness to go away, and God will take it from you.  Pray for a boyfriend or girlfriend, and God will give you one.  Pray for a parking place in front of the post office, and one will await you when you drive up.  For those who see prayer “working” in this way, they place the success of prayer upon the number of people praying (the more the better), the right prayer being said (How will God know how to respond if we aren’t specific enough?), and making sure that the words “In Jesus name”, are included.

      But is that really the way the Bible depicts the workings of prayer?  Is that really how the Bible depicts our relationship to God?     Is that really the way that prayer functions in our lives?  Is prayer an exercise akin to putting nickels into a gumball machine and having a gumball emerge?

     And when prayer doesn’t work that way the answers are given: you didn’t truly believe , or God said “no”, or you must have left out something important, or not enough people were praying with you,   But worst of all, when prayer goes “unanswered”, some have given up on God altogether.

     Let it be known that I echo the pronouncement, “Prayer works,” but when I say works I understand it to mean the way it worked for Jesus who prayed three times in the Garden of Gethsemane on the night of his betrayal.   On that night he entered that garden aflood with fear and anxiety over what was about to happen.  After he had prayed when he left that garden, albeit in the hands of his captures, he was at peace and empowered to face what lie ahead.  Such, in my understanding, is the working of prayer.

     To pray is to come to God with the realities of life in a conversation with one who divinely cares.  Like a child who has come to rest in her mother’s lap after she skins her knee finds herself less preoccupied with the scrape on her knee and more aware of the comforting strength of the one on whose lap she rests, so is the working of prayer.  Therein lies, as I understand it, the power of prayer: a power that overwhelms fear, anxiety, envy, or pride that leads one to sweat blood with a peace, a confidence, and a hope that says to the world, “Ok.  Hit me with your best shot.”

     “Prayer works.  Come pray with us.”

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

The Bungee Cord  5-13-13

Hello,

     The chickens are here!

     Those of you old enough to remember the 60’s-70’s show “Green Acres” will know what I mean when I say that I am living out that show, only in reverse.  In the show a man captivated with the idea of living on a farm steals his wife away from the big city to take up the country life…”Green Acres is the place to be…farm living is the life for me…”  Well, in my case it is my wife who has the farming bug, and she has stolen this suburban Chicago kid to live the country life.

     We have lived on our small western Pennsylvania acreage for just about a year now, and I can now say that “farm life” has officially begun.  Over the course of the winter my wife has been making preparations for this day, the arrival of her chickens.  With her usual diligence, she began researching designs for chicken coops in the fall, made adaptations to many of them to fit her dreams, laid away on many a night mulling over the options, and then while the snow flew she built her chicken coop in the protection of our garage.  Let me just say, that this chicken coop is quite unlike any chicken coop on Green Acres which lacked quality and durability.  No, my wife’s chicken coop is the “Taj Ma Coop” of chicken coops….built on a solid trailer, bolted down with 8 large bolts, equipped with electricity for lights and winter heat, complete with vented roosting boxes, and easily accessible  egg retrieval, and sided with cedar siding left over from our house construction.  It took its maiden voyage out of our garage a couple of weeks ago, and it now sits safely sheltered behind our garage awaiting its occupants.  For the last several weeks my wife has been counting down the days for the chickens to arrive in the mail (yes…they come in the mail!), and at last, today they arrived.  Four baby chicks now making their home in our furnace room in the makeshift pen that she formed out of our dog’s no longer used kennel.  Paneled in cardboard, the pen mimic’s their mother’s nest by keeping at a constant 95 degree temperature for the first week or so. 

After they have grown enough, and I don’t know what that means…but believe me, my wife has researched this….they will take their place in the palace that awaits them, the “Taj Ma Coop”.

     So, it is an exiting day at the Nuernberger house… a new life for this city kid as “farm animals” have arrived, and a new life for my wife as a long hoped for dream begins to take shape.

     All this has given me a new appreciation of what Jesus said when he spoke of the joy in heaven when a sinner repents, more joy than when a shepherd finds a lost sheep….more joy than when a woman finds a lost coin…….the kind of joy, I am sure, that I saw in my wife’s eyes when the chickens arrived!

Fellow chickens…..have a great week!

God’s grace and peace,

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

The Bungee Cord  5-7-13

Hello,

     Sunday evening I arrived back from a four day stay in New York City.  My youngest son gave his master’s degree piano recital, and my whole family made the trip to the “Big Apple” to hear him twinkle the ivories.  The recital was on Thursday evening, so that left us with several days of seeing the sights and wandering around the city together.

     I’ve been to NYC a couple of times since my son has moved there, but with every trip I am still surprised at the hustle and bustle of the streets, the chorus of languages that fill one’s ears, the clock that never strikes twelve, the undertaking of making order out of the chaos, and the endless variety of stores and shops that seem to have enough business to stay open despite the huge rent payments they must be making.

     Saturday morning we strolled down to Times’ Square to see if we could get some theater tickets.  Even in the day, Time Square is a like a shimmering sequined dress.  Big Screen advertisements that covered the first 6 stories of a building scroll from each direction of the compass.  Billboards, larger yet, bring movie characters to your face as if they were the Giant and you were Jack of beanstalk fame.  People filling the streets like ants to sugar.  Music playing, pictures being taken, tourists with necks crooked and eyes wide open.  Time Square is a sensory overload locale that magnifies the energy, diversity, and drive of life in the United States.  Even to sit on a bench there has a way of both fuelling one up and exhausting one out.

     Interestingly enough, in the middle of Time Square is a large bronze statue.  The fact that there is a statue there is not the thing that I find interesting.  What I find interesting is who the statue is.  It is a statue of Father Duffy, a Roman Catholic priest who served as an army chaplain in the early 20^th century and who completed his ministry in a parish not too far from Time Square.  Amid the swarms of people, above the din of the noise, surrounded by the screens and billboards stands the stately statue of a Roman Catholic priest.

     I don’t know how many other people noticed him, but whether they noticed him or not….he was there.  I don’t know how many people knew his story (I didn’t)…but he was there.  I don’t know if at night the glitz around him blinded others to his unlit presence….but he was there.  There, in the magnified microcosm of what this world has to offer in life stands, and always stands, one who was ordained to reach the world with everything that life with God has to offer.

     Maybe it is no accident that he stands there unlit, witnessing to the fragile power of everything that was lit around him and to the power of God that is its own light.  Maybe it is no accident that he stands there silent, witnessing to the fragile peace that the words that the world speaks give us and the concrete peace that comes with the promises of God.  Maybe it is no accident that he stands there oblivious to fashion and fad, witnessing to the gusty winds of this world that can pull us off course and the shepherding care of a Good Shepherd who stays the course. .  Maybe it is no accident that he is made of metal that withstands the weather, the collisions, the vibrations….witnessing to the frailty of the commitments that humans make to one another and the resiliency of God’s commitment to humans.

Ever find yourself feeling like Father Duffy…unlit, silent, out of step, battered and bruised by the world?  Ever feel like you’re not making much of a difference in helping people see what life with God has to offer against the thunder of what the world is offering?

     You might be doing more than you think….just like that Time Square statue of Father Duffy.

Have a great week.

God’s grace and peace,(ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger